


First Leaf

by White Eyebrow Recycle Bin (White_Eyebrow)



Series: White Eyebrow's Mutant Plot Bunny Ranch [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Ban Bossy, Body Positivity, Body Worship, British English, Canon Compliant, Cavalier Servente, Cicisbeo, Coitus Interruptus, Consensual Sex, Coprophilia, Dean eats the booty, Dual-Mating Strategy, F/F, F/M, Have I mentioned puerile?, I'm going to hell for writing this., Luna is a Pimp, M/M, Multi, Necrophilia, Polyamory, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape/Non-con Elements, Strategic Pluralism, That’s messed up, Was this really necessary...? Yes!, Women In Power, puerile
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-02-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:34:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22425640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/White_Eyebrow/pseuds/White%20Eyebrow%20Recycle%20Bin
Summary: A wizard should think twice before becoming a witch's First Leaf.
Relationships: Alecto Carrow/Neville Longbottom, Andromeda Black Tonks/Charlie Weasley, Hannah Abbott/Neville Longbottom, Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Dean Thomas, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Luna Lovegood/Dean Thomas
Series: White Eyebrow's Mutant Plot Bunny Ranch [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1660258
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	1. Driftwood

**Author's Note:**

> Some things to note before you become invested in this tale, gentle reader:
> 
> This is a throw-away tale that is set apart from my regular sand box to purge some stale, but loud, plot-bunnies.
> 
> My characterizations are based on the novels, not the movies. If you’ve never read the novels, you will find Hermione more self-conscious and Luna more assertive. Dean is a Muggle-born since his father’s origin was never explored in canon, only alluded to in interviews with JKR—which are not canon. In Harry’s case, I’m taking liberties with his characterization by overlaying it on top of his many traumas, something the novels couldn’t explore, being aimed at children.
> 
> At the end of the day, this should still ‘feel’ like a Harry Potter story, porn elements notwithstanding.
> 
> I apologize in advance should you decide to read this garbage.

Part 1 – Antebellum

* * *

Dean Thomas looked up to regard the looming clouds that had darkened the sky. Shell Cottage was barely visible this far down the beach, where all the choice bits of driftwood lay washed ashore, ripe for collecting. He bent over to retrieve one of the specimens, when a gentle voice stilled him.

“Not that one.”

He regarded his golden-haired Ravenclaw companion. “Sorry?”

Luna Lovegood pointed thus. “The baby turtles are using that one for shade.”

Dean abandoned it and reached for the specimen behind him.

But, Luna stopped him again. “There’s a bird nest in that one.”

He straightened. _This isn’t going to be as easy as I thought._ The thunder continued to rumble out toward the sea, making it harder to ignore his full bladder. “I’ll see what I can find over the next dune; I’ll be back in a jiff.”

“Mind the crabs; it’s mating season.”

Dean nodded and left her, stepping carefully around the debris.

Having ventured beyond the dune in question, Dean came upon another collection of driftwood. Satisfied that the area was devoid of denizens, he collected an ample amount of wood to be taken back to Shell Cottage.

A single drop of rain fell on his arm, and he was again reminded of the fullness in his lower abdomen. He set the stack aside and unbuckled his trousers. The cool wind made his penis twitch, and he sighed in anticipation of his inevitable relief, when he heard a rustling sound to his left. He instinctively looked in that direction and saw Luna Lovegood standing there, carrying a stack of driftwood she had gathered, her head cocked slightly askew, lacking in any outward expression.

Being too late to stop, a strong stream of Dean’s urine flowed, eroding the sand at his feet.

Dean blushed as he averted his eyes and bore down to empty his bladder as quickly possible which caused his urine stream to jet out into a high arc that nearly spanned the base of the dune.

Luna stifled a titter.

When he was finished, Dean buckled his trousers, retrieved the driftwood he had collected and quietly passed Luna on his way back to the cottage. He made it a point not to make eye contact with her.

Luna followed him but had a hard time keeping up as Dean's nervousness had served to fuel his brisker pace. She yelped, almost stumbling as pieces of driftwood started to fall away from her, and Dean slowed, allowing her to catch up.

They walked side-by-side along the shore.

Halfway, Luna casually broke the silence. “Your penis doesn’t look like the ones in the pictures.”

Dean clenched his jaw, keeping his eyes forward. “Wh-what pictures?”

“From SRE class,” Luna clarified. “Is it because you’re a Muggle-born?”

“What do you mean?”

“You don’t have a foreskin,” Luna clarified again. “Is that normal for a Muggle?”

“My foreskin was cut off after I was born.”

“Why?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Are all penises as big as yours?”

“Every bloke’s different.”

She pouted thoughtfully. “I’m glad I’m not a boy.”

“Me too; otherwise, I’d be feeling _really_ awkward right now.”

She regarded him quizzically. “Why?”

"Nevermind." He snorted, smiling in amusement at her candour. “I like you, Luna.”

She smiled in kind. “I like you too, Dean.” She looked skyward, and scant raindrops sprinkled her brow. “When the war’s over, you should come visit. Daddy recently acquired the horn of a Crumpled-Horned Snorkack.”

Dean’s brow furrowed. “What’s a Crumple-Horned Snorkack?”

Luna grinned in his direction with raised eyebrows. “I have _so_ much to tell you….”

Thunder rattled the sky, and the rain finally started to fall in earnest. Fortunately, Shell Cottage was just over the next dune, so they ran.


	2. Getting Carrowed Away

Part 1 – Antebellum

* * *

Hannah Abbott descended the narrow spiral staircase leading to the dungeons of Hogwarts. Her light footfalls echoed loudly in the long, gloomy stone corridor. She felt a draft, spurring her to flip the collar of her nurses robes up over her neck to combat the chilly air.

The lock on the threshold to the detention area disengaged from the inside, and she hid in the crawlspace behind one of the columns. From the shadows she spied Amycus Carrow heading toward the staircase from which she had came, massaging his bloodied knuckles.

When the way was clear, she entered the detention hall. The door creaked loudly at her ingress; the torches along the walls were scarcely sufficient to illuminate the room enough for her to see a lone figure, slumped, being chained against the wall.

She approached the imprisoned Gryffindor, rousing him as she placed a gentle hand on his cheek. “Neville?”

Neville winced under her wand's light and regarded the beautiful blonde. “Hannah?”

“ _Shhh..._ _”_ She grimaced upon regarding his bruised and bloodied face. “Seamus told me they took you.”

“H-how did you get in here?”

She brandished the Hogwarts sigil embroidered on her lapel. “Madam Pomphrey is training me to be a nurse; I’m technically considered a part of the staff when I’m on duty.” She retrieved a flask from inside her robe. “Here… This will give you strength.” She removed the cap, and placed its rim against his lips. "Where does it hurt?"

Neville readily drank the elixir before answering, “Everywhere.”

Her hand felt along his midsection. “Your ribs are broken.” And she waved her wand over the affected area.

Her Healing Charm knitted Neville’s ribs back together, and he sighed in relief. “Thanks.”

“This is unacceptable. I should inform the Headmaster.”

“You mean Snape?” He snorted, though it sounded like a rasp in his condition. “Are you kidding?”

“Then, for Merlin’s sake, stop provoking them! How long do you think you can keep this up?”

“For as long as I have to. They’ve kidnapped Luna—there’s no telling what horrors she’s enduring. Every hit I take is one less that everyone else has to.”

“If they discover that you’ve reformed Dumbledore’s Army, they’ll kill you just to set an example!”

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take,” he said. “We have to be ready for Harry’s return.”

She started to object, when a sound gave her a start. “What was that noise?”

“They’re coming back.” He instinctively looked toward the entrance in trepidation. “Get out of here, Hannah...! Quickly!”

“I’m not going to leave you!”

“Please. There’s nothing you can do,” he pleaded. “You don’t know what they’re capable of.”

The desperation in his tone brooked no further argument from her. She hugged him, retreated into the shadows and hid behind one of the buttresses. She removed her shoes.

The door opened fully, and the Professor of Muggle Studies Alecto Carrow entered the room. A stocky little woman with sloping shoulders, was she, walking with loud footfalls. Her arms, folded akimbo, caused her sleeves to roll up, revealing the Dark Mark branded on her forearm that signaled her rank of Death Eater.

From his vantage point, Neville could see Hannah making her way silently to the exit. A noisy flap of the Hufflepuff’s robe in the drafty room gave her away, and Alecto stilled, listening intently. Neville faked a loud, exaggerated coughing fit. Given his condition, the effort was convincing enough to garner the Death Eater’s attention, thus giving Hannah the diversion she needed to slip through the threshold before the door magically closed.

Unawares, Alecto approached Neville. Placing her hand under his chin, she lifted his eyes.

She frowned. “I told those idiots to stop hitting you in the face.”

Alecto pointed her wand, and Neville’s shackles magically unlocked. His arms fell heavily at his sides. Exhausted, he dropped to his knees.

She knelt and ran her fingers through his dark hair. “You have been getting in quite a bit of trouble lately, Neville Longbottom, son of Franklin.” She leered as she continued to regard him familiarly, whispering, “You’ve grown to look so much like Frankie.”

His eyes narrowed. “You knew my father?”

“We were students around the same time—sorted into different houses, of course. He even made a go for me once.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

She snorted at his cheek. “Do you know what we have in common, Neville?”

“I have nothing in common with you!”

“Mind your tone, boy.” Her grin levelled as her expression hardened. “The Longbottoms and the Carrows… our families are members of the Sacred Twenty-Eight—”

“So what?”

“I’m not finished.” Though the youth’s attitude had worn thin, her voice softened. “You and I are also the last of our bloodlines.”

“That’s not true; you have a brother; he just beat the snot out of me!”

“You’ll have to forgive Amycus; he’s sterile; it’s given him a bit of a complex that causes him to lash out.”

"What about Flora and Hestia?"

"Unviable," she said, sighing. “As I was saying, it’s up to the likes _us_ to carry on our respective bloodlines.”

“Fair enough. Good luck with that,” he said flippantly.

Alecto smiled. "You've grown to act like him as well..." Her hand casually glided along his chest, made sore from having been stretched taught for so long. “I can make the beatings stop, you know.”

“Can you...? Cheers.”

“Well, there’s a _quid pro quo_ to go along with that favour.” She reached into her robe and retrieved a single-leaf clover; it magically stood upright in her open palm. “I trust you know what this is?”

“Yes.”

“Among the pure-blood families, yours and mine are the most distantly related. That means we have an excellent chance of breeding healthy, _viable_ offspring. I’ll raise him as a Carrow, of course; I just need _you_ for the fun part.”

“What are you on about?”

“Accept my first leaf—give me a child—and I’ll protect you.”

He shook his head sternly. “That’s never going to happen.”

The corners of her lips curled downward as she rose to her feet. “Right. The hard way it is, then.” She raised her wand:

“ _Crucio!”_

Neville writhed in agony on the cold, stone floor for what seemed like an eternity from his perspective as Alecto’s Torture Curse lit up every pain receptor in his body. Beyond exhaustion, his limbs merely twitched, and she dispelled her attack.

“The Cruciatus Curse is much more efficient than brute force, don’t you think?” In the student’s current state she knew that he would be no match for her, so she sheathed her wand and discarded her teacher’s robes. “The thing I like most about it is it doesn’t cause any _physical_ damage.”

Neville stirred as his torturer lowered herself, squatting over him.

She pulled down his kecks and straddled him properly. Her hands were warm, and Neville felt his blood surging.

Alecto leered as her ministrations bore fruit. “Your todger’s coming along nicely, innit?”

Neville’s eyelids fluttered as he fought for consciousness. “Wh-what are you doing?”

Satisfied, she hiked up her dress and pushed the crotch of her knickers aside, exposing her damp lips. “Don’t worry; I’m not going to hurt you...” She bit her lower lip as she guided the tip of Neville’s swollen glans to her tight portal. “Oh, my, you’re a big boy, aren’t you.”

“St-stop.”

“This is a privilege, boy.” Aroused by her own cruelty, she soon enveloped him, and to the hilt, she began to grind into him slowly. “You don’t want your friends to think that you’re a poofter, do you?”

Neville grunted; she was heavy. “G-get off.”

“I intend to.”

It was warm and slimy inside her stinky quim. He objected to his body's natural reactions. “N-no.”

“Don’t pretend; if you really wanted me to stop, you wouldn’t be so hard right now...” She stilled, clenching around his twitching cock. “I can tell you’re close, aren’t you?” The warmth of their union started to diffuse into the rest of her body as a familiar sensation made her forget herself, and she whispered, “Merlin, you’re much bigger than my brother….”

It was pleasure without precedent for the young lad, it felt way better than when he used his hand, and try as he might, he couldn’t stop himself from falling over the edge. His hips started thrusting up into her of their own volition.

She bit the tip of her index finger. “That’s it… Let it happen, love."

A wave a nausea swept over Neville as his body continued to betray him, and he snarled. “Slag!”

“ _Mmmm…_ that’s a good lad.” Her pooch belly jiggled as she bounced up-and-down. “Get every drop in there—give it to me—teach me lesson!”

Neville's entire body tensed; a moan disguised his anguished lament. He grabbed her hips tightly—cursing the cow—and he pumped his descendants into her birth canal.

Their loins pressed into each other as if fused by the heat of their sex.

“Wasn’t that lovely?” She leaned in, putting her lips to his ear. “I could’ve been your mum, you know.” When she tried to kiss him, Neville turned away, giving her his cheek. She dug her nails into the side of his face and forced his lips into hers. Neville’s erection waned and slipped out of her hairy cunt.

Satisfied, she rose to her feet, adjusting her knickers. “Clean yourself up, and get back to your dorm.” And she left without ceremony.

The door closed. Neville’s sobs echoed in the dimly-lit room.


	3. Potterwatching

Part 1 – Antebellum

* * *

The war now seemed so far away under the normalcy of life at Shell Cottage.

Most of the guests had since left over the past week: Griphook, Ollivander, Harry, Ron and Hermione, leaving Dean and Luna on the sidelines as Bill and Fluer Weasley’s sole guests.

The four of them sat in the living room, keeping warm by the fire, listening to the latest broadcast of Potterwatch on the wireless—their only link to the outside world.

The broadcast wasn’t halfway over when Bill and Fleur rose from the sofa, saying their goodnights, and they retired to their bedroom for the evening. Dean and Luna were content to quietly enjoy the rest of the show; nothing was said between them.

It was time for the popular ‘Pals of Potter’ segment, but Dean was too busy to listen in earnest, being preoccupied with his sketchbook. He switched to the yellow grease-pencil and began to draw the hair on his effigy of Luna. The witch sitting across the room, staring at the device as intently as she was listening, made for a perfect subject on which to practise.

He emptied his glass of water and was reminded of his full bladder. He set down his sketchbook and left the room, making his way to the lavatory.

He opened the door to the loo and went inside, failing to close the door immediately behind him. He turned and gave a start when Luna entered; she locked the door and regarded him serenely.

He straightened, pointing behind him with his thumb. “Sorry, did you need to go...? I can wait.”

She shook her head timidly. “No. I don’t need to go.”

“Oh… well… I was going to use the loo now, if you don’t mind—”

“I don’t mind.” She slid past him in the narrow confines and sat on the edge of the bathtub situated next to the commode.

He blinked. “So… you’re… not going to leave?”

“I wanted to watch you again, closer, if that’s all right?” she said, resting her hands atop her pressed knees with her heels kicking outward. _“_ I’ve always been curious about how boys worked down there, and you seem like you’d be pretty chill about it. _”_

He remained by the threshold. “You’re not worried about getting caught?”

“Bill and Fluer always turn in early when they're going to have sex.”

He blinked again. “Oh… I always thought they were just knackered.” He shrugged and approached uneasily. “I guess I don’t mind, then.”

Dean lifted the lid, unbuckled his trousers, lowering the waistband of his pants, and his todger flopped out as Luna sat less than an arms-length away. She regarded his penis as intently as she had the wireless in the other room—curious—but not otherwise moved.

Dean held his penis at the base, allowing it to dangle freely. He tried his best to relax to no avail. “Sorry… I’m not used to an audience.”

“I understand,” Luna said with an almost academic aloofness. “Take your time.”

Dean closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Concentrating solely on his full bladder, he was only able to tease out a few drops before he involuntarily clenched.

Luna casually transferred her elbows to her knees, leaning in slightly. “Wouldn’t it be easier if you just sat down?”

This made Dean regard her with a frown. “Blokes pee standing up—it’s a rule.”

Luna shrugged in reply. "That's kool.”

His defiance gave him a newfound confidence, allowing him to release the self-imposed constraints on his bladder. His powerful urine stream agitated the water in the bowl.

The suddenness of it took Luna by surprise, and a snort of amusement escaped her with a loud, _“Hmph!”_

“It’s bad manners to laugh at it.”

“Sorry.” She pursed her lips, her head cocked slightly askew. “So, do you aim it first, or just point it in the general direction and adjust mid-stream?”

“A little bit of both, actually. You learn to go by feel.”

As she looked on, Luna’s curiosity got the better of her. She rose and reached for his cock. Her fingers tentatively wrapped around the thick organ.

Dean allowed her to get a proper purchase on his shaft before withdrawing his hand. He continued to urinate unfettered, guided by her dainty fingers.

The stream stopped, and she proceeded to squeeze out the last remaining drops as she had observed him do on the beach. However, this time something unexpected happened; his member swelled, as if the Engorgement Charm had been cast upon it. She released it, as it was now capable of standing firm on its own, and her finger curiously poked at the long, winding vein along its curvature.

She flinched with a start when his penis twitched. “Did I hurt you?”

“No.”

“Ginny told me that boys can’t pee while it’s erect… Is that true?”

“It’s extremely difficult, to be sure… one has to lean forward quite a bit in that case.” He illustrated thus.

She smiled, suppressing a giggle. “You look like a weeble-wobble.”

Dean snorted.

For the first time, she regarded his eyes. “Thank you, Dean.” Her curiosity satisfied, Luna left him by the toilet to finish up, absent-mindedly smelling her fingers as she unlocked the door.

She didn’t wash her hands.


	4. Once You've Eaten the Poison, You Might As Well Lick the Plate

Part 1 – Antebellum

* * *

Neville Longbottom knocked on the door of the deputy headmistresses’ office. The threshold magically opened, and he entered. The door closed behind him, and he heard the lock engage. He straightened, steeling himself, and walked to the desk where sat Professor Alecto Carrow. The space was larger than the offices of the other Heads of house, as befitting someone of her station, being one of Lord Voldemort’s higher-ranked minions.

He passed the sofa and confidently stood at the fore of the professor's desk, waiting for her to acknowledge him. He sniffed the air when he caught a waft of her perfume. Her hair, usually pinned into a tight bun, was styled and hung freely down to her sloping shoulders. She finally set aside her lesson plan and regarded the young Gryffindor with a smile that was uncharacteristic of her nature, her plain face made more feminine with make-up.

“Have a seat, Neville.”

He obeyed, sitting in the lone chair to his right, maintaining a pretence of the niceties. “You wanted to see me, Professor?”

Alecto reached for the folder on her desk and retrieved the stapled papers therein; she handed it to the student. “I need you to rewrite your Muggle Studies term paper.”

“Why?”

“It’s incorrect.”

“How so?” he asked, nonplussed. “I cited every single one of my sources—”

“It’s not a matter of facticity, but rather ideological conformity,” she said. “You see, this is what I’ve been trying to impress upon your lot all year, Neville. The only way forward is if all of wizardkind operates on the same page.” She illustratively pointed at the term paper in his hand. “When you write about Muggles outside of a Ministry-approved ideological lens, you risk fomenting sedition amongst your peers.”

“Then fail me.”

“It’s not that simple; the other students look up to you.” She sighed. “If you don’t change from this course, we’ll be forced to take more drastic measures. I can only protect you for so long—”

He chortled. _“Protection...?_ Is that what you call it?”

“Yes, believe it or not.” She folded her arms. “Do you think we don’t know that you’re the leader of this pathetic little band of upstarts that have the temerity to call themselves ‘Dumbledore’s Army?’”

Neville remained silent.

“My brother Amycus wants to murder you, you know? He just hasn’t figured out a way to do it without causing suspicion. The only reason you’re still walking around with a pulse is because of _me.”_

“And why do you care?”

“I thought I made that clear.”

“You have a funny way of showing it.”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, Neville, what is all this resentment for, really?”

“You have to ask?”

Alecto clicked her tongue. _“_ _Awww,_ are you cross, lad?” She rose from her desk, and walked behind the youth. She started to massage his shoulders as he remained seated in the chair.

“Let’s be honest, Neville: what I did to you… it’s not the same as when men do it to women.” She felt his shoulders stiffen. “It’s not like I hurt you—aside from the Cruciatus Curse, but that was only because you were being a _little shit._ That aside, I seem to recall you enjoying letting one rip inside me… And _that_ is the difference. Sperm is ubiquitous, but eggs are worth more than gold.”

“So, only a woman can be a victim?”

She was not impressed. “You don’t realize the pressure that we women are under," she persisted. "Our eggs have a finite shelf life, while you blokes cast your seed to the wind on a whim.” She leaned in, allowing for her hands to travel from his shoulders down to his crotch, making the youth flinch. Her breath warmed his earlobe when she whispered, “Sooner or later you would’ve wanked it anyway, so I might as well have put it to good use. Really, at the end of the day, what did you lose?”

“My dignity.”

“You mistake that for your fragile male ego.”

“My virginity.”

She laughed. “That’s not a thing for blokes.”

Alecto returned to the fore, and she removed her professor’s robes. “And for _whom,_ exactly, were you saving yourself, eh?” She cast the robe aside and leaned against her desk, pursing her lips in reverie as she hiked up her skirt. “The Weasley bitch…? No, she’s hot for Potter.” She reached under her slip and removed her knickers. “How about that nutter Lovegood…? No, she’s not exactly your type, is she?” She waved the knickers under Neville’s nose, smiling mischievously when he turned away. “It must be that blonde Hufflepuff I’ve seen you exchanging glances with during class… Hannah Abbott, correct?”

The chair that Neville was seated in creaked quietly as his glare toward her betrayed him.

“You’re wasting your time with these skinny tarts. All they do is lay there—as if their presence is enough.” She knelt between his knees and unbuckled his trousers. Her hand reached inside. “Women like me, on other hand, we may not be much to look at, but we work for that spunk.” With parted lips she leaned over his partial erection.

Neville’s penis stiffened like a rock once inside Alecto’s warm, magnificent mouth, yet she was still able to accommodate the Gryffindor fully. Her lips held the base of his throbbing cock fast as her tongue mercilessly assailed the underside of his shaft, all the while maintaining eye contact.

Neville gripped the armrest of his chair tightly.

She stopped short of blowing his load, keeping his twitching member on the edge. A line of spittle connected her lower lip to the tip of his cock.

 _"Mmmm…_ I know what I want for lunch, now.” She greedily lapped up his pre-come as it bobbed up from the slit. "Unless you want me to stop." She batted her eyelashes. "Do you want me to stop?"

Silent, Neville's expression remained stoic, save for his trembling chin.

She sneered knowingly. “You've grown to have Frankie's cock as well, with _all_ the same sensitive spots.” The tip of her thirsty tongue gently pried open his piss-hole.

 _Godricdamn!_ Neville struggled to keep his breathing measured. “I-I think I j-just r-realized why my father chose m-my mother over you.”

She paused, regarding him with narrowed eyes. “Why?”

“He probably had doubts over the purity of the Carrow family tree: how much Muggle blood have you and your brother got coursing through your veins?"

Alecto’s face became devoid of emotion. She rose to her feet, reached behind her—grabbing the dagger atop her desk—and made a swipe at the student.

Neville leaned back just in time, yet the blade still managed a shallow cut across his cheek.

With a snarl on her lips, Alecto straddled him, and with both hands she brought her knife to bear toward his chest. Neville caught her by her forearms and used his superior strength to rise from the chair, keeping her arms stretched taught over her head. However, the Death Eater kept her legs wrapped tightly around his waist, and they spun around the room, jockeying for leverage. Neville prevailed, dropping her on the sofa and pinning her down with his weight, though she managed to maintain her hold on the knife.

Trapped between her thighs he made sure to keep her arms above her head, regarding the murderous intent in her eyes. Her skirt had ridden up during their continued struggle, and his exposed penis was repeatedly squished against her warm, damp lips, and so moistened, the tip of his cock poked through; a right growler, it was. But, it felt agreeable.

They stilled, gasping.

She bit her lower lip—it hurt so good. “That’s right; stick it in me, sweetie.”

Being perfectly aligned, Neville instinctively flexed his bum, driving his cock deeper inside her musty quim.

Alecto squeaked. Being impaled by his full length, her grip relaxed, and the knife fell to the floor with a loud clang in the now quiet room.

Neville met her wanting gaze, and started to fuck her properly. “Is this what you want?”

“Look at you go...” She clenched her teeth as he brusquely slid in-an-out of her. “Did you miss my fanny, Neville?”

In answer, he slammed his hips into her.

She grunted. “I did _not_ consent to this, Neville!”

Her mischievous smile indicated otherwise as she wrapped her short legs around Neville’s bum, egging him on. The sofa creaked under the force of him pounding her.

She grunted. “I said, stop fucking me, Neville!”

“Shut up!”

She grunted. “This is rape, Neville!” she said, in spite of her giving it back as energetically as he was giving it to her.

“I HATE YOU!”

He curled his lip, and with one final grunt, Neville bucked, and to the hilt, he came inside the Death Eater. Nose-to-nose they swapped laboured breaths as their joined bodies grinded against each other.

She forgot herself, saying softly, “I hope our child gets your eyes, _Frankie._ _”_

They kissed.

Neville closed his eyes, pretending it was Hannah who he was emptying his bollocks into as Alecto's strong pussy milked him. Satisfied, he took advantage of her post-coital haze to remove her wand from her sleeve-sheath, with her none the wiser, and he extricated himself from betwixt her trembling thighs. Her overflow soaked his man-minge. His spunk dribbled out of her gaping vagina.

With pleading eyes, she made a grab for his hand, though he was already out of reach. “It’s not too late... Be my First Leaf.”

He regarded the prostrated Death Eater with disgust. “Never.”

She frowned.

As Neville made his way to the door, Alecto retrieved the knife and threw it at him, but it bounced harmlessly off the Gryffindor’s Shield Charm—cast with his newly acquired wand.

There was no emotion to be seen as the Death Eater said at his egress, “For _your_ sake you had better hope that my brother finds you first.”

Neville closed the door to the office behind him, magically sealing it and casting the Silencing Spell. He straightened his robe, and made haste toward the common area.

The lunch hour was over, so the halls quickly filled with students en route to their classes. Neville leveraged the anonymity of the crowd, all the while keeping one wary eye peeled over his shoulder, sure that at any moment Alecto Carrow might be there, ready to pounce.

He rounded the corner leading to the main hallway without regard to where he was going. A hand on his shoulder startled him, and he almost yelped.

Hannah Abbot retracted her hand with a start. “Neville, are you all right? You look absolutely white... And what happened to your cheek!”

“The Carrows are finally coming for me; I have to go.” He brushed past her.

“Wait.” She held his arm fast. “Let’s take you to Professor Sprout; they won’t think to look for you in Hufflepuff.”

“Too risky.” He freed his arm and held her gently by her slight shoulders, saying, “Spread the word to the rest of the group: the Carrows are coming. I’ll be hiding in the Room of Requirement.”

She blinked. “Be careful.”

“You too.”

They parted ways, and Neville continued on to the second floor via the Grand Staircase; he knew of a shortcut leading to the seventh floor. He was forced to pause and hid behind a suit of armour when he saw Amycus Carrow and Headmaster Serverus Snape having a discussion. He ducked through the door to his left, before he could be spotted, being sure to close it quietly behind him.

He ventured inside the dark, dank room that smelled of stale mildew. The sink, flooring and partitioned toilets informed him that he was in a lavatory, although it had fallen into disrepair, as if it hadn’t been used in decades. He failed to see the entity floating silently behind him:

“Who are you?”

The student turned toward the meek voice with a start, dropping Alecto’s wand in the process, but he had the presence of mind to answer, “N-neville Longbottom.”

The ghostly figure of a young girl regarded the human with curiosity. “Hello, Neville Longbottom.”

Neville narrowed his eyes in recognition, as her reputation preceded her. “Aren’t you Moaning—”

“THAT’S NOT MY NAME!”

“I’m sorry”—he amended himself, calling the restless entity by her proper name— _“Myrtle.”_

The ghost, colloquially known as Moaning Myrtle, calmed herself. “What are you doing in my lavatory, Neville Longbottom?”

“Hiding.”

She folded her arms. “From whom?”

“Professor Carrow.”

“I don’t know who that is,” she said lazily. “I don’t get too many visitors, least of all boys.” She arched a curious eyebrow. “You must’ve done something naughty.” She floated closer, whispering, “What did you do, Neville Longbottom?”

“Look, Myrtle—”

As quick as a blink, she approached and phased her head past his robes, going into his pants. _“Tee hee...”_

Neville retreated with a start. “What are you doing?”

“I looked inside your… _plumbing._ _”_ She gave him a knowing smirk. “You just had sex.”

“Focus, Myrtle.”

She floated a circuit around the human. “I’ve never had sex… What’s it like?”

Neville sighed, pinching the ridge of his nose. “Please, Myrtle, I just need to hide here for a minute, and I promise I’ll leave you alone.”

“But, I’m lonely,” she said with a frown. “Won’t you stay?”

He shook his head. “Sorry, no.”

Myrtle did not like that answer. “PROFESSOR CARROW…!”

“ _Shhh!_ _”_ Neville’s eyes widened in the direction of the door. Fortunately, the ghost’s outburst went unnoticed. “For Merlin’s sake, Myrtle, you’re going to get me killed!”

She shrugged. “It’s not so bad being dead.”

“But, I’m not ready to die yet. Harry is going to need all the help he can get when the fighting starts.”

Her ears perked at the name mentioned. “You mean _Harry Potter?”_ And she acquiesced, lowering her voice. “Why didn’t you say so? I’ll be happy to help… as long as you keep me company.”

“Honestly, I can’t right now. But, I’ll come back later.”

She pouted. “Do you mean it?”

“Yes.”

She smiled. “Okay.” She then floated toward the door and phased her head through the threshold. Satisfied, she returned to report, “The way is clear.”

“Thanks, Myrtle.” He made his way to the exit and opened the door with care. He regarded the dead girl one last time before leaving.

Myrtle winked in reply, placing her index finger to her pursed lips. _“_ _Shhh...”_

Myrtle was alone again. Alecto’s wand remained, forgotten, on the floor.


	5. Pinwheel

Part 1 – Antebellum

* * *

It was shaping up to be another uneventful day at Shell Cottage. After breakfast Bill and Fluer had left for the city to go about their business, so Dean and Luna had the place to themselves.

After Dean finished his chores, he retired to the sofa. There was nothing good on the wireless, so he partook of a periodical on the coffee table. Luna soon followed and sat next to him. She set her bowl of strawberries on the table next to a copy of _The Quibbler,_ which she then retrieved. She slid out of her sandals and reclined on the sofa. The space was not long enough for the both of them, but Dean did not object to her resting her bare feet in his lap.

She looked at the Gryffindor warily before indulging herself. “You really shouldn’t read the _Prophet;_ it’s full of fake news.”

“I like their comics section.”

“That’s nice,” she replied absent-mindedly as she opened her periodical to the editorial section.

Dean's newspaper ruffled as he turned the page, and he happened to take notice of the 'unique' way his sofa-mate had been reading her magazine. “Er, Luna, you do realize your _Quibbler_ is upside-down, love?”

Her head remained buried behind the words. "Mhmm."

"Is there any particular reason why?"

“Orientation is just a matter of convention.”

“Humour me.”

“My mother… She used to sit across my bed and read my night-time stories upside-down so that I could follow along right-side up.”

Dean nodded approvingly. “That makes sense.”

“She said it was good exercise for the brain, so I mimicked her. I think that’s why I was sorted into Ravenclaw.”

“It’s too bad you weren’t sorted into Gryffindor instead.”

She lowered the paper, eyeing him quizzically. “Why?”

He shrugged. “I guess I just realized I would've liked to've known you better... You certainly made for a brilliant mascot with that Lion hat of yours.”

“That was only for when your lot competed against Slytherin,” she said, unmoved. “It’s too bad _you_ weren’t sorted into Ravenclaw.”

“You’re already brave enough for Gryffindor, Luna, but I’m not smart enough for Ravenclaw.”

“But, you’re creative, Dean.” She regarded him with a wry expression that only those close enough to her could pick up on. “I could put in a good word for you as an honorary Ravenclaw… _if_ you’d be willing to wear our Eagle hat.”

Dean shifted uncomfortably, but before he could reply, a whistling sound, coming from the mantle over the fireplace, gave him a start.

They looked to the source; Bill’s Sneakoscope stood on end and was spinning rapidly. As the whistling grew louder, Dean and Luna looked to each other in trepidation and began to follow their protocol.

While Luna deactivated the alarm, Dean retrieved Bill’s Invisibility Cloak from the closet.

They cautiously peered outside all of the windows; it was deathly still outside.

They returned to the foyer. Luna panned her wand about; it’s tip glowed bright orange. “I’ve confirmed that Bill’s Confundus Charm is still in place; anyone looking from the outside should see the cottage as a nondescript sand dune grown over by a tall hedge of sea-lavender.”

Dean put his ear to the door, listening intently.

Luna peeked through the curtain of the adjacent window. “I don’t see anyone—”

His index finger at his lips, he shushed her.

In understanding, Luna cast the Silencing Spell. “We can talk now… Do you think it’s a false alarm?”

Dean shook his head. “No. Somebody’s out there, waiting... I can feel them.”

She arched an eyebrow, lacking his Gryffindor intuition. “Who?”

“Snatchers,” Dean answered. “Somehow, they’ve managed to track us.”

“How?”

“Fenrir.”

“Isn't that the werewolf who attacked Bill?”

Dean nodded in answer. “When I was on the run with Mr Tonks, it was Fenrir who sniffed us out, defeating our Confundus Charm… Before they attacked, everything was still—just like it is now.” He donned the cloak.

“What are you doing?”

“They’ll’ve been setting up Anti-Disapparation Jinxes, so I’m going to draw them away.” With his hood doffed, he appeared to look like a floating disembodied head. “If they get too close they’ll discover the cottage.”

She grabbed his arm before he would disappear completely. “But, Dean, you don’t have a wand.”

“I know how they operate, Luna.”

Her grip tightened. “You’re not going alone,” she insisted.

They stilled when the outline of a lone intruder passed uncomfortably close in front of the window.

There was no time to argue. Dean opened his cloak and brought Luna inside its folds; he picked her up, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, straddling him as he supported her by her bum. He carried her to the other side of the cottage and exited via the back door.

Outside, Dean hugged the periphery of the foundation, staying within the confines of the Confundus Charm. He made it past the corner, when a large shadow stilled him.

The youth clenched his jaw as he looked for a way around the thing that neared. _Shit! I forgot about the sand!_ And he froze for fear of tracking footprints into the soft ground.

Fenrir Greybeck, the leader of The Snatchers, crossed their path—a grey, grizzled abomination of a man whose face was spotted with patches of fur. The leather of his dark robe, too warm for the sunny weather, stretched shy of the point of tearing when worn over his muscled frame.

Fenrir sniffed the air loudly. “I smell cunny.”

A second Snatcher, who brought up the rear, came upon the scene. “Is it Potter’s girlfriend?”

“No… someone else.” He smelled the air again and leered. “Another virgin.”

Dean risked backing away, but stopped when a third snatcher appeared behind him.

“We _are_ next to the ocean; are you sure it’s not a dead fish you smell?”

Fenrir glared at him. “Shut it.”

Dean felt Luna trembling against him, her rapid breathing warmed his earlobe. As The Snatchers converged, he held Luna tightly with one arm as he knelt carefully and picked up the shell at his feet, and he tossed it into a nearby bush. When The Snatchers turned toward the sound, Dean made his move, hopping out of the way onto a slab of rock. Though invisible, he stilled so as not to disturb the surrounding sand.

A fourth Snatcher approached, carrying something swaddled in a blanket. He presented it to Fenrir—“Look what I found buried over the ridge”—and he unravelled it. The body of a house-elf fell to the ground.

Helpless, Dean's upper lip curled in a suppressed snarl. He likewise felt Luna’s grip tighten upon seeing the deceased house-elf that had rescued them from Malfoy Manor.

Fenrir grinned when he recognized Dobby. “They were definitely here.”

Their second-in-command looked about the desolate beach, squinting. “The question is, are they still around?”

“Keep looking,” Fenrir ordered.

The Snatchers had started moving away from the cottage, when a breeze blew in from the sea. This change of air put Dean and Luna downwind of Fenrir.

Fenrir paused. He sniffed the air and turned behind him. He then called out to the others. “Over here!”

Dean tensed as The Snatchers approached. Surrounded by sand, he dare not step off the rock, lest his footprints give him away. He considered leaping back toward the threshold, but with The Snatchers eyes in their direction, they might see his shoes below the hem of his invisibility cloak.

He failed to notice the crab at his feet.

Fortunately, Luna was more observant. She aimed her wand at the creature, non-verbally invoking, _Reducio!_ And it shrank.

She waited until the Snatchers were close enough before casting a second spell. _Geminio Maxima!_ And the animal multiplied aggressively.

The Snatchers stopped in their tracks when a horde of mini-crabs appeared out of nowhere.

The wolf-man backed away. “Chizpurfles!”

The other Snatchers likewise retreated at their leader’s trepidation, one of them saying, “What does that mean?”

“It means there’s nobody hiding out here with those accursed things around; they must’ve moved on after burying that house-elf.” At his order, Fenrir’s Snatchers stood down. And they left.

Convinced it was safe, Dean stepped off the rock and returned them to the safety of the Confundus Charm. He finally realized how hot it had grown under the cloak and had Luna remove the hood.

The cool air was invigorating. Grateful, Luna aimed her wand at the horde of crustaceans, and she dispelled her charms.

The crab scurried away, unharmed, as his clones dissolved back into the void.

“What did you do, Luna?”

“Chizpurfles are tiny crab-like parasites that are attracted to magical beings: wizards, werewolves, wizard-werewolves... They swarm their victims and get into one’s hair—or fur, depending—and they burrow under the skin. It’s very unpleasant.”

“But, those were just regular crabs.”

"I gambled that Fenrir wouldn't be willing to get close enough to suss that, _ya ken?"_

Dean chuckled. “Brilliant.” And for the first time, he regarded her in earnest. “We make a good team.”

She shrugged. “Passable.” She then straightened, remembering that he had been carrying her, and she loosened her arms that had been clasped tightly around his neck. “I'm not too heavy, am I?”

“Light as a feather.” He paused when she beamed. “You have pretty eyes.” It came out without him even thinking it.

She blushed as her teeth tugged on the corner of her lower lip. “So do you.”

The already narrow gap between them closed, and their lips almost touched. However, a shrill squawk snatched them out of the moment and forced them to regard Dobby’s corpse, so callously exhumed, as the seagulls started to descend upon it. They picked at its sweet, rotting flesh.

Luna maintained a stoic demeanour at the garrish sight, though a quiver in her voice gave her away. “W-we should bury him.”

“No,” Dean said. “If the Snatchers happen to double back and notice the body was moved, they’ll know it was us.”

They watched, helpless, as more birds swarmed Dobby’s remains, his little elf body twitched from being pulled apart in all directions. Luna’s eyes reddened and welled until she could look no longer. She buried her head into Dean’s shoulder with muted sobs.

Dean held her tight, tenderly kissed her crown, and he carried her back inside.

Bill and Fluer would eventually return to Shell Cottage after a busy day of running various errands only to be shocked and horrified when Dean and Luna recounted their recent harrowing experience. As disturbing a sight as it was, they all agreed to let nature take its course in regards to Dobby’s fate, and by the time nightfall rolled around, there wasn’t much left of the beloved house-elf’s body.

The mood was sombre as Bill reinforced the Confundus Charm that protected the cottage, adding in Luna’s illusion of Chizpurfles as well as charms that would serve to mask any smells detectable by the likes of Fenrir.

In spite of the fortifications, it would be an uneasy night’s sleep for the occupants inside.

Dean lay wide awake in bed as he stared at the ceiling. He grinned upon hearing the familiar muffled sound of a headboard tapping against the wall in the master bedroom on the other side of the cottage.

_Wump… Wump… Wump… Wump..._

Dean’s head rested atop his interlaced fingers. His washed clothes hung in the corner, still damp due to the humid night air, which was why he preferred to sleep in the nude, lest he start sweating after the hot shower he had just taken. Being relaxed, the rhythmic cadence started to make his eyelids grow heavy, when he heard a knock at his door. He reached for the pyjamas that he had borrowed and put them on before answering.

The blonde Ravenclaw sheepishly entered, dressed in one of Fluer’s spare nightgowns, her wand propped behind her right ear. She sat herself on the mattress and hugged her knees at her chest.

_Wump… Wump… Wump… Wump..._

Dean shared a knowing look with her as he closed the door. “Bill and Fluer are at it again, I hear.”

Luna nodded. “And my room is right next to theirs….”

He approached and sat next to her. “It’s nice to know they have a healthy marriage, but I wonder why they don’t use the Silencing Spell?”

“I don’t think they realize how thin their walls are.”

“Right. Well, you can take my bed; I’ll go sleep on the sofa in the living room.” He started to rise, but was stilled when she placed her hand on top of his.

“By your leaving... are you just being polite, or do I make you feel awkward?”

“Yes,” he said in answer to both questions.

Luna blinked. “Oh… I’m sorry...” And she looked down at her toes.

“I didn’t mean it like that.” He squeezed her hand gently. “I actually _like_ the way you make it awkward, if that makes sense?”

“Will you stay, then?” she said, looking up at him with those deep blue eyes of hers. “Sleeping at Hogwarts… I’ve grown used to others being in the same room; it feels like being on a camping trip with friends, if that makes sense?”

He grinned knowingly. “Sure. I suppose I can pull out the pallet that Griphook used to sleep on and lay it out here on the floor.”

They both paused when Fluer’s moans permeated the walls. Suddenly made uncomfortable, their nervousness gave them the giggles.

Luna brandished her wand. _“Tace.”_ And the room was made quiet.

“Er, you probably should’ve led with that, yeah?”

Luna shrugged, blushing.

Dean knelt, reached under the bed and retrieved the pallet. He then unrolled it and proceeded to smooth it out.

The blonde frowned. “That doesn’t look very comfortable, Dean.”

“You should’ve seen the places I’ve slept in when I was on the run from the Snatchers,” he said, punching the makeshift mattress filled with straw. “This is luxurious by comparison.” He then laid across it, but being designed for a goblin, it only supported him down to his knees.

Luna shook her head in disapproval. She pointed her wand, and Dean was foisted upwards as the pallet magically transfigured into a proper bed large enough to accommodate the length of his body.

He reclined and ran his hand across the plush surface. “Thanks… Where did you get that wand, anyway?”

“Mr Ollivander made it for me as a thank-you.” She set it aside on the night stand.

“I don’t suppose he made a spare, did he?”

“No.”

“Figures." He reclined, yawning, and he rested on his back. "Good night.” His heavy eyelids started to close.

Luna hopped off and joined him on the magic mattress, making the Gryffindor flinch with a start, but he did not otherwise object. She casually snuggled up against him and rested her head on his shoulder with her leg draped across his waist.

Finally settled in, she sighed contentedly. “Good night.”

Now wide awake, Dean blinked. _Okay…_ But he easily went along with it as it was more comfortable than his bed—not to mention the fact that laying next to Luna wasn’t exactly unpleasant.

Actually, laying next to Luna was _very_ pleasant.

Their bodies fit nicely together. The arm of his affected shoulder curled, angling his hand to stroke the length of her wavy-blonde hair; it smelled of honeysuckle. Partially embraced, her fingers lazily caressed his chest, and her thigh that rested atop his pelvis warmed the bulge that was starting to swell between his legs.

Made suddenly aware, he attempted to shift his hips out of the way to hide the embarrassment of his arousal, but she reversed him:

“Put it back.”

He obeyed. It grew warmer, making the use of a blanket unnecessary, so he cast it aside. His arm uncurled so as to lay at her waist, and he naturally coaxed her in closer—as if she belonged to him.

She obeyed. Nuzzled cozily, Luna slid her bare inner-thigh glacially along his pulsing shaft.

“Dean...?"

"Mhmm?"

"Do you think about what’s going to happen when the fighting starts?”

“Sometimes.”

“It’s going to be bad, isn’t it?”

“Try not to think about it.”

“But, it’s true,” she persisted. “We’d be dead already if it weren’t for Mister Dobby.”

“It’s not like Ravenclaws to be so doom-and-gloom, is it?”

“On the contrary, it’s a reasonable conclusion to draw given the facts. And the fact is, tomorrow is not guaranteed... These past few months have changed my outlook on lots of things.”

“Such as?”

In answer, Luna's hand probed under the waistband of his shorts. “Our childhood being over, for one.” And she firmly squeezed his throbbing erection.

Dean swallowed.

She relaxed her grip and slowly wanked him. "Did that hurt?"

"N-no."

She slid her head lower, her ear to his heart, to better examine the object of her current fascination, as a child would with a new toy. Blood surged, and her grip yielded, forced open by this veiny purple thing growing in her hands. She noticed the moistened slit atop the mushroom tip, from whence her inquisitive finger collected a cloudy discharge.

He flinched.

She smelled her finger. “I told you a fib the other day in the loo.” She tasted her finger.

“What’s that?”

“I wasn’t really curious… I just wanted to touch it. It's far more interesting when it's swollen.”

He arched an eyebrow. “You could’ve just asked.”

She turned and regarded him obliquely with a subtle smirk and whispered, “May I touch it?”

"Why?"

"Because I find it odd how something so hard can be so soft at the same time."

He snorted in answer with an amused smile. “Don’t you birds get hard down there?”

Giggling mischievously, she looked up and to the left as she pursed her lips. _“Er..._ No... for me it gets really warm, and it feels like there’s a heartbeat in my vagina.”

Still smiling, he brushed her blonde locks aside. “You're so cute....”

She rose to her knees and returned his smile with a broad one of her own; her nails raked across his rippled abs. “Thank ye.” When she reached his waistband, she pulled off his shorts.

Dean sat up, and he pulled her nightgown up and off over her head.

She unbuttoned his top, leaned in and took in his scent at his neck.

He unclasped her bra, leaned in and lightly kissed the curve of her shoulder.

She made herself comfortable, lying on her back, and Dean laid on top her, supported by his elbows, angled to mount her properly.

They kissed.

When his hip pressed against hers, his erection grazed her damp lips, and a sharp pain akin to an electric shock zapped his penis— _“_ _Ouch!_ _”_ —and he raised off of her. “What was that?”

Her eyes widened, and she gasped. “Oh… I forgot Daddy put a Chastity Hex on my vagina.”

He sighed. “Right. Of course he did.”

She bit her lip. “I’m sorry, Dean.”

He shrugged—“No worries”—then proceeded to mutter, “Ginny has one too… and Parvati”—he pursed his lips— _or was that Padma…?_

She smirked in understanding. “Can we still snog? I liked it.”

“So did I.”

He leaned in carefully and kissed her lips tenderly as his fingertips lightly touched her. He avoided her most sensitive bits, making her blood flow to those areas in anticipation of his ministrations and stoking the fire within her loins.

He reclined next to her, taking in the glory of her nakedness bathed in the moonlight coming in from the window. They whispered their feelings; he kissed her nose, sending shivers and tingles down to her toes. He placed his hand on her tummy, and she rested her hands on top of his.

They stared into each others eyes.

**. . .**

_How can this be?  
__Never noticed_ her _before  
__This angel in my midst  
__Whose body I explore_

 _Her name is the moon  
__But her hair shines like the sun_  
_She smiles at me  
__And I know she’s_ the one

**. . .**

His hands were so warm, sliding along her inner thigh, and she opened her legs for him nice and wide.

The nectar that leaked from her aroused vertical lips trickled past the threshold of the Chastity Hex and pooled at the base of her taint, collected by sheer blonde hairs that, at their moistening, glistened like gold. Dean thus imbued his fingers with this natural lubricant and, by feel, probed ever lower until he found her pucker muscle. He massaged it gently—blindly—while at the same time lightly kissing her sensitive little breasts.

The foreign sensations, assailing her on two fronts, made Luna moan loud enough to be heard throughout the cottage, were it not for the Silencing Spell she had cast earlier.

“Are you okay, Luna?”

“I’m better than okay.” She regarded her lover with the eyes of a woman. “I wouldn’t mind if ye did that forever.”

Newly emboldened, Dean’s tongue ever-so-lightly flicked the tip of her nipples, strategically alternating between the two pink buds lest they become numbed from over stimulation. His index finger continued to swirl an orbit around her little bumhole in a steady clockwise motion. Her engorged ringed muscle began to pulse, matching his tempo. His free hand supported the small of her back as her splayed legs rose higher.

The tingles set off from this action diffused throughout her body; her surging blood warmed her.

Luna swallowed. “Dean, I feel funny.”

He escalated the intensity, taking her entire nipple into his mouth whilst his tongue continued to tease the duct at its tip, all the while maintaining a steady, light pressure with his swirling finger.

She shuddered. The moonlight, casting is glow on her fair skin, belied the heat that swelled underneath its surface as her moans grew louder. Her lips parted, and the Ravenclaw angel sang.

He held her hand.

It would take a few minutes for Luna’s breathing to return to normal. Her body eventually stilled when she caught her breath. She laughed.

Smiling, she wrapped her arms playfully around his neck. “D'ye ken I'm still a virgin?”

“I believe so.” Dean’s fingers lovingly graced the side of her face; her smile was infectious. “I don’t think I ever heard you laugh like that before.”

Her teeth gently bit the tip of his finger as he traced the outline her lips. “I saw my mum die, but you made me forget, if only for a moment.” She ran her own fingers through his kinked hair. “I’m glad it was you.”

He kissed her forehead.

Her face flushed in post-orgasmic bliss, she stretched her arms high over her head, sighing, content. “Cheers, honey.” And she instinctively wrapped her legs around his waist, bringing her gaping vagina dangerously close to the tip of throbbing heat. “Isn’t it your turn to… finish?”

“Don’t worry about me,” he said. “I just want to make _you_ feel good.”

“But, my vagina feels empty… like something is missing.” She pouted. “What if you just put the tip in?”

He tried. “ _Ouch!”_ And he reflexively snapped his hips back. “Merlin, that’s one unforgiving spell.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. "I can't control it."

“It was worth it... I made it all the way to the opening.”

"I felt you." She tightened her embrace. “Dean… I want you to make me forget again… _please?_ _”_ And she pulled her lover into another kiss.

He obeyed, parting from her sweet lips, he began to kiss a path down the centreline of her body, stopping short of tripping her Chastity Hex again. Instead, he took her tiny hand, overlaying his fingers on top of hers, using them as a buffer between him and the spell that guarded her virginity, and he stimulated her clitoris by proxy.

He nestled his head between her open thighs and gazed, enrapt by her dainty anus, washed clean by a viscous waterfall of her overflowing vaginal juices. Its rhythmic ‘winking’ beckoned him, and he obliged. He found it as soft as her lips—south of her muff—kissing her pucker and breathing its puff. The tip of his tongue probed every pink fold that ‘pinwheeled’ from the centre, coaxing her swollen rim to gape ever wider, and he plunged his tongue deep inside her.

_Luna tastes like strawberries…._

Slimy and comfortably warm, she bore down on his flat tongue, her hips meeting his lips. Her toes curled, and her nails dug into the back of his head.

Breathless, she panted. _“Oh, Dean…."_

“ _Ouch...!_ C’mon, that was only my nose!”

Luna laughed.


	6. Always

Part 1 – Antebellum

* * *

The Dark Lord nears; war is coming to Hogwarts.

The Headmaster has fled with the sacking of Snape. The castle is fortified—there _is_ no escape.

Footfalls echo the halls with panicking students scattering about as Dumbledore’s Army and The Order of the Phoenix rally everyone for the coming battle. Breaking away from the bustle, Dean and Seamus follow Neville down the Grand Staircase to the second floor.

Though he was happy to be reunited with his fellow Gryffindor who had been absent all year, Seamus Finnegan didn’t have a lack of criticism for his best mate’s lack of preparedness. “Honestly, what kind of prat comes to a wandfight without a wand?”

Neville, however, was more understanding. “Come now, Seamus, would _you_ want to sit on the sidelines if you were in Dean’s position?” He turned left and they followed.

“No, but what can Dean do without a wand?” Seamus persisted. “Whip out his todger and piss the Death Eaters away?”

It was then that Dean spoke up. “It’s Hogwarts; I figured there’d be a spare wand around here somewhere.”

Neville found the door, and he entered.

Dean and Seamus followed close behind. The two stilled when they realized they had been led to the old haunted lavatory. Neville appeared distracted as he looked about the wet, mildewy floor.

Seamus was the first to ask what he and his best mate were thinking. “Neville, why are we in the girls lavatory?”

“When I was hiding from the Carrow’s, I’m sure I dropped Alecto’s wand in here,” he said, more as an afterthought than a proper reply.

“Really? I wonder whose wand she’s been using in the meantime?” Dean questioned.

“Who cares...?” Neville grinned when he spied the object. “Ah! Here it is.” And he knelt to retrieve Alecto’s wand. "Here you go, Dean."

Dean grimaced as he took possession of the dripping, proffered wand, tentatively, with two fingers. “Er… cheers, Neville.” He then wiped it clean on the side of his trousers.

Seamus couldn't resist taking the piss out of him. “Beggars can’t be choosers, Dean.”

The three Gryffindors started for the door, when Moaning Myrtle phased through the wall, floating between them and the exit.

She smiled, her ghostly-white eyes beaming. “Neville, you’ve come back to me!”

Neville sighed with clenched teeth. “Bugger—”

“And you’ve brought friends.” She phased through Neville and floated before the other two Gryffindors. She glanced over her shoulder. “Aren’t you going to introduce me?”

“Dean, Seamus, meet Moan—er—Myrtle.”

Seamus glanced curiously in Neville’s direction. “Dare we ask?”

Neville shook his head in answer.

“Hello, Dean. Hello, Seamus,” Myrtle said as she floated betwixt the three of them. “My, I’ve never had so many gentleman callers before.”

Neville continued to inch toward the door. “Myrtle, we really can’t stay; we’re pressed for time—”

She glared at him; the mirrors rattled and the ancient toilets flushed. “KEEP YOUR PROMISE, NEVILLE!”

“Calm yourself, Myrtle,” Seamus soothed. “What promise did he make?”

“He promised to keep me company,” Myrtle answered, pouting with her arms folded. “I kept him safe, and he can’t even bother with a kind word...? I thought Gryffindors were honourable.”

Neville was not impressed. “Myrtle, I’m sorry, but we are _literally_ in a life-and-death situation—”

“Still, Neville, it’s bad form to use her only to cast her aside,” Dean interjected with a smirk.

Seamus shared his best mate’s sentiment. “Dean’s got a point, Neville. She may be dead, but she’s still a person.”

Neville sighed loudly— _This is just dumb_ —pinching his brow between his finger and his thumb. “Myrtle, I apologize.”

The ghost looked down her nose at him. “Apology accepted.”

“Is there anything we can do for you?” he added.

Her demeanour changed, and she smiled, saying, “You’ll do anything I ask?”

“So long as you make haste.”

She innocently bit the tip of her index finger as a not-so-innocent expression washed over her. “I want… the three of you… to wank it for me.”

Neville blinked. “Are you serious?”

“Quite.” Her finger twirled one of her pigtails. “I’ll even give you an incentive, if you like....” And with that, she discarded her ethereal robes. She then opened her shirt, exposing her pert little ghostly breasts, preserved for all time in an early post-pubescent state. She knelt in front of the gobsmacked gents, baring her pallid, translucent chest. “Try not to get any in my hair.”

With nothing to hide, her mouth opened wide—an eager receptacle—she pointed inside.

Dean blinked. “Well, that escalated quickly.”

Seamus grinned knowingly, but couldn't resist asking, “Myrtle, how can we possibly get any in your hair when you’re… Er… What’s the word for when one thing can pass through another thing…? Transparent?”

Neville shrugged and offered, “Transphasic...?”

Seamus shook his head. “Trans-spunk?”

Dean snorted. “I missed you guys.”

Myrtle giggled. “I wanna play too... Permeable...?” She gasped with widened eyes. _“Sperm-eable!”_ she squeed.

Neville threw up his hands—“We don’t have time for this!”—and he left.

Dean followed, pausing only when he noticed that his best mate lingered. “Seamus, you coming?”

Seamus glanced over his shoulder, fumbling with his belt buckle. “Er… you two go ahead… I’ll only be a minute—two tops.”

Dean left him, closing the door behind him, grimacing at the sound of Myrtle’s muffled giggles that echoed in the hallway:

“ _Mmmm,_ Seamus… If you die horribly, we should hang out.”

Dean instinctively tightened the grip on his new wand. The students rushing about reminded him of the direness of the situation. He could feel war looming on the horizon. He rejoined the remaining ranks of Dumbledore’s army at the base of the staircase, most of whom had cleared out. The blonde whom he loved was where he had left her.

“Come on, Luna,” Dean called as he passed, holding out his free hand; she took it and followed him back up the stairs leading to the room of requirement. (1)

He led her inside. The last group of student-evacuees had just disappeared into the passage that joined Hogwarts to Hogsmeade. “I don’t suppose if I told you to wait back at the Hog’s Head Inn, where it’s safe, you’d take my advice, would you?”

Luna blinked. “That depends… How many Death Eaters have _you_ duelled?”

“None.”

She cocked her head slightly. “Then perhaps it is _you_ who should stay back?”

“Don’t be like that; I just don’t want anything bad to happen to you.” He reached out, stroking a lock of her hair. “I care about you.”

“I know.” Her hand graced his chest. “But, Harry is going to need _all_ of us.”

“Isn’t it tiring, being right all the time?”

She smirked and pulled his six-foot frame down to her wanting lips.

They kissed.

“I should tell you something,” Luna said at their parting. “Before my mum died, my parents made an arrangement with the Scamander family… I am to be married to their son Rolf on my twenty-first birthday.”

“Oh… I see.” He lowered his head, averting his eyes. “I’ll stay out the way, then. I won’t interfere.”

She kissed him again, leaving the Gryffindor confused. “I want you to be my First Leaf.”

This did little to allay his confusion. “Sorry. I don’t know what that means.”

Her innocent, blue eyes looked up and away in thought to her answer. “It’s like… a promise—to stay in my life.”

He didn’t hesitate. “Always.”

She reached into her pocket and retrieved a sprig—a single-leaf clover. It remained wilted in her palm until she spoke the magic words, and it came to life, standing on end.

She waited until he took the proffered object. “You have to say, _I accept_ for it to count.”

“ _I accept,”_ he said, and he held it up, examining it quizzically. “What do I do with this?”

“Swallow it.”

He obeyed, and Luna hugged him with glee, saying, “It’s almost like having a boyfriend.”

Dean blinked, being thoroughly nonplussed. “But… I _am_ your boyfriend….”

“That’s nice.” She took his hand. “Promise not to die?”

He grinned. “I promise.”

They started for the door to rejoined their friends.

Dean slapped his forehead. "Intangible!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) Quoted directly from _Deathly Hallows,_ chapter 30


	7. The Mudblood

Part 1 – Antebellum

* * *

The battle raged throughout the night, ending at the early dawn when Harry Potter bested Lord Voldemort. The forces of good had finally won, and the survivors celebrated in fellowship and mourned the slain. By late morning, those students who weren’t picked up by their parents, were allowed to sleep in the dorms.

Dean had slept the day off on the sofa in the Gryffindor common room; he hadn’t slept so soundly all year long, being awoken only by his growling stomach. He left the atrium and wandered the halls. He didn’t realise that it was dusk until he had passed an open window where he happened to observe the setting sun.

He nodded at the Auror standing guard at the entrance to Gryffindor Tower and entered what was left of the main hall. Although, some clean up had been done, a pile of Death Eater bodies was left neglected in the corner.

The air reeked of death.

Dean stepped over the rubble and ducked through a blast hole that led to the castle exit just before the Grand Staircase. He was about to pass a dimly-lit side corridor when he heard a strange echo—a grunting sound.

He instinctively drew his wand and explored the empty hallway, staying in the shadows. The grunting grew louder as he neared the source; it sounded like a girl.

_Is it a survivor?_

He rounded the corner and flinched with a start, nearly dropping his wand. Just beyond the torch’s light, he saw Hermione Granger. Her kecks were rolled down to around her ankles as she squatted over the head of Bellatrix Lestrange’s corpse. Her round bum relaxed, exposing her gaping arsehole, being a dark shade of peach, as opposed to Luna’s strawberry-pink pinwheel. With her loudest grunt yet, her pert sphincter widened, and a shard of impressive girth was pushed out. It fed into the corpse’s opened mouth and, pinched off, disappeared within the maw.

Gobsmacked, Dean had forgotten his hunger.

Hermione’s head snapped in Dean’s direction when his growling stomach gave him away. “Who’s there!” She drew her wand as she fumbled to pull up her pants; her unkempt minge made the effort difficult to do with one hand. “Show yourself!”

Dean stepped out of the shadows, his hands raised in surrender. “Sorry. It’s just me.”

“Dean?” She lowered her wand. “H-how long were you watching?”

“I didn’t mean to spy; I was just on my way to the kitchen, when I heard a strange noise. I didn’t know it was you.”

“I’m sorry you saw that.” She hid her face in her hands. “I am _so_ embarrassed!”

“Don’t be. War makes us all act out.” He approached, looking down at Bellatrix’s still form. “What did she do to you?”

In answer, Hermione raised her sleeve, revealing her scar suffered at the hands of Bellatrix at Malfoy manor earlier in the year. “If Dobby hadn’t’ve rescued us, I shudder to think what she would’ve done to me.”

His eyes narrowed as he read the word carved into the flesh of her forearm: _MUDBLOOD._ “I remember… I don’t think anyone would blame you. I certainly don’t.”

Hermione rolled her sleeve back down, ashamed. “I’ve been using her wand ever since; I came down here to bury it with her.”

“Why?”

“Because, with every spell I’ve cast with it… I can _feel_ her. I just can’t help but to think about all the people that she hurt using this wand.” With clenched teeth she snapped the wand in two and discarded it atop the corpse. Her reddened eyes welled, and her lips trembled. “And when I saw her just now… I-I hate h-her so m-much, Dean!”

“Come here...” He gently pulled a sobbing Hermione into him, stroking her mussed hair. “Let’s get you something to eat, yeah?”

She nodded, and taking his proffered arm, they strolled down the narrow corridor.

He cast the Wand-Illumination Charm in their path. “Why didn’t you go back with the Weasley’s?”

She dried her eyes with her sleeves. “I’m an outsider; the last thing they need is to entertain guests while they grieve over Fred. Harry offered to let me stay with him at Sirius’ place, but I know he’d rather be alone.”

“I know what you mean. Luna went back to her dad, and Seamus and Neville are with their folks… I miss my old bed; I feel like an orphan.”

“So do I… until I figure out a way to reverse the False Memory Charm I placed on my parents.”

Dean snorted. “Ron’s right: you _are_ scary.”

She giggled, hiding her face in her hands, and she caught an unpleasant waft, causing her to grimace. “Er—do you happen to have any hand sanitizer?”

With a flick of his wrist, Dean pointed his wand at her open palms. _“Scourgify.”_ And her hands were made clean. “You probably should’ve led with that before contaminating my arm.” He smelled his affected sleeve.

She frowned, blushing. “Sorry.”

He chuckled. “I’m just taking the piss.” And he put an encouraging arm around her slight shoulders. “Well, our seventh year was certainly eventful, wasn’t it?”

“I’m glad it’s over.”

“Not for me; Luna wants me to come back next semester so we can graduate together properly.”

“Good,” she said, sliding her arm around his waist. “That’ll make two of us.”

“What about Ron and Harry?”

“Ron and Harry are done with Hogwarts… I can’t say I blame them.”

“Sounds like Gryffindor will be in for a dull time, then,” Dean said. “What _will_ we do with ourselves?”

She straightened, assuming an ironically haughty air. “Why, study, of course.”

“That sounds dreadful… Where are The Snatchers when you need them?”

Hermione laughed.

When they arrived at the end of the hall, a low, gravely voice greeted them from the shadows:

_“Students...?”_

They both gave a start, and Dean panned his wand toward the source. The castle’s caretaker Argus Filch approached, holding a candelabrum in his left hand while his pet cat Mrs Norris purred, content, curled in his free arm.

The old squib scowled. “What were you two doing? Nobody’s supposed to be back there.”

Hardly in the mood for such theatrics, Hermione defiantly placed her hands on her hips. “So, what? Are you going to throw us in detention, or something?”

Filch’s features softened into a frown. “I suppose not.”

“Good day, then,” Hermione said dismissively. She took Dean’s arm, and the ex-students brushed passed him.

Filch eyed them until they were out of sight. “Damned kids.”

The old man ventured into the hall from whence the youths came. He sniffed the air and followed his nose to the source of the stench. He set Mrs Norris down as he stood at the foot of the Death Eater’s corpse—the Dark Lord’s most faithful—shaking his head. “Eh, now, _you_ don’t belong here, either.” He scoffed as he grabbed the body by the ankles and proceed to drag it back to the main hall along with the other fallen Death Eaters.

He grunted; the body was heavier than it looked. “Why is it always left up to me to clean up the messes?”

He didn’t make it far as the body’s arm-sleeve caught on a protrusion of granite that stuck out of the damaged wall. Cursing, Filch turned to loosen it, and his eyes stilled on Bellatrix’s pale yet toned legs, made bare as the dress was hiked up from being dragged against the coarse floor.

He knelt and ran his hands along those spidery-veined thighs. “Right bit o’ totty, you are.”

He removed the black satin knickers, arching an eyebrow at the sight of the neatly manicured tuft of wavy black hair that sat above a parted vertical slit of flesh. It was the first time he had ever seen such parts from a ‘proper’ lady, much less one with such open, inviting legs.

He inserted a finger into its cold folds, and he sneered.

“Still moist.”

He unbuckled his trousers, reached into his pants, and attempted to awaken the aged remnants of his manhood from its prepuce. Unsuccessful, he slid his hands up the decedent’s thorax to partake of its full breasts. He indulged his fingers naughtily along the donned hourglassed leather corset with its puckered seams, and he grinned as he felt his blood rush to his loins. 

“Waste not, want not.”

He mounted the body.

The cat hissed.

He glared at the feline. “There’s no need to be jealous; she means nothing to me.”

He swirled the tip of his wrinkly willy at the opening and, when he finally managed a proper erection, violated the cadaver.

He moaned—“That’s a _good_ lass”—and he propped himself on his hands. “No need for foreplay, yeah?”

Sounds of the squishing gasses trapped in the corpse’s viscera could be heard between Filch’s laboured grunts as he thrusted his hips with a vim that belied his years. A dark, oily sludge leaked from the dead rectum, being squeezed out under the old codger’s weight.

It stank.

His lips curled into a snarl as he ignored his cramping bum muscles. “All high-and-mighty, you were, back in the day, when you strutted around here in your tight little Slytherin uniform... but look at you, now, you crumpet!”

The raven-bobbed head wobbled—up-and-down—back-and-forth.

Winded from the exertion, he sneered. “Argus finally gets the last laugh!”

With one final thrust his twitching bollocks dribbled out their anaemic contents. Panting, he stared into those cloudy, lifeless partially-opened eyes, secure in the knowledge that he had just dominated the most feared witch of the age. Her parted blue lips revealed brown-stained teeth, and he leaned in to kiss the chapped, flaking skin.

“Somebody needs a breath mint.”

* * *

End Part 1

* * *


End file.
